Nahnu
by AzzyDarling
Summary: Someone adores Altaïr from afar. Silly bunny that wouldn't leave me, this is a Altaïr/MALE-Oc fic, sorry about that. - Warning for rape.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Nahnu. (Us.)  
author: **azzy**  
Fandom: Assassins Creed  
Warning: Rape  
Rating: M  
Beta: **goodbye_sun**  
Pairring: Altaïr/OC  
AN: Okay so here is that damn bunny i couldn't get rid of, i had two people look it over and tell me if it was too ridiculous, so if it's too lame, blame them :P Anywho this is a Altaïr/OC pairring, so i don't think it will fly anywhere, so i am still not sure if i will post this anywhere than here on my lj. To my defence and for those who didn't play the game, you get a shitload of 'save citizen' quest type things, it's just nameless citizens that will say stuff like 'if you hadn't helped me, they (soldiers) would have made off with me', and/or 'i have no money, but i will find a way to repay you'. Okay so sue me for not recalling the correct lines! And so i actually just pick up on this. I did do an excessive amount of legwork, reading up of culture stuff to write this.

I seriously don't know if i will do part two, the plan is to write it, can't promise it tho.

* * *

Fareed knew the assassins routine by heart. He watched for him, and couldn't help but to smile as he saw the well known white clad figure saunter down the narrow street, his expression somewhere between mischievous and unyielding.

Fareed rested his chin on his knee, his eyes following the assassin as he passed by. He turned his head to keep him in view, even though he knew exactly where the man was heading. The assassin would always come walking from the same direction, always with a sort of languid arrogance, slipping gracefully between people who were in his path. He would aim directly for the brothel, where Fareed even knew he would pick a specific girl. He couldn't help but to wonder if the assassin maybe had fallen for the girl. Or maybe, he just that had some very particular tastes.

Letting orange peels drop to the ground, Fareed slowly ate the juicy fruit while he watched the agile man greeting the girls at the brothel. They all swarmed around him, their tingling laughter carried by the wind to the shadows where Fareed sat.

Today was slow, in every sense, like the air itself stood still. Fareed mused that it seemed to be waiting breathlessly for something to happen, not that he had a clue what that thing might be. He moved further into the shadows, to avoid the hot midday sun. He stared at the brothel's columns daydreaming that he was also standing under the cool shadow of the half roof, like the girls did. That had to be a life worth your right arm! He knew some of them by name, all sweet girls, sometimes they would slip him a coin, mostly out of pity he supposed. He didn't mind, it was more than what others did. Normally he would just get hard words, sometimes even kicks, and things thrown at him. All of which made him work harder to be invisible.

What he wouldn't give for the beautiful assassin's grace and good looks. He had seen him climb a building that seemed completely impossible to scale. If he only had that ability, he wouldn't get caught stealing from the stalls at the market, and the angry merchants wouldn't reach him with their sticks, fists or rocks. And with his looks, he could get whatever he wanted with a little smile alone. Once, the assassin had looked at him when he passed by, he had seen the amber colored eyes that were normally obscured by shadow, and he had seen those perfect, soft looking lips twist into a little smile. No wonder he was this popular with the girls at the brothel.

Fareed closed his eyes and daydreamed for a moment what it would be like if the handsome assassin had stopped in front of him, instead of walking past. If he had held out his hand and beckoned Fareed to come with him. What if he had taken him up into the tower where the birds would nest? Would it be as delirious as he thought to be kissed by those lips, with only they blue sky as a witness?

He woke abruptly as a sharp pain erupted on his shoulder, Fareed's eyes snapped open. As he turned his head, he rubbed his abused shoulder, stopping as soon as he found himself staring straight into a city guard's angry frown. "The Merchant Ali claims that you have stolen from him."

Fareed looked discretely over the guards shoulder to see if there was a possible escape route. There was no way the guard could miss the orange peels on the ground, so instead of answering the guard, Fareed made a sudden, mad dash. He was hoping to duck under the guards arm, into the market place, and with a little streetwise luck, get lost in the shoppers and shadows. But he had no such luck, the guard caught him.

No matter how hard he struggled, the guards grasp was unrelenting. And Fareed's horror grew beyond the crushing grip on his arm, as he saw the guard nod to his squad. He then then hauled Fareed into the alley, followed by four other guards. Fareed thought about screaming for help, but he knew that no one would come to his aid. Not just because he was lowly, poor thief, but also because everyone feared the guards' wrath. Even if they should pity him for being their target, none would interfere for fear that they too would be attacked. So, he opted for pleading in the most pitiful manner he could. It earned him nothing but a hard slap across his face.

"Silence, and you might live," The guard huffed in broken Arabic.

"Please, I have wife and child..." Fareed cried, hoping his lie would lessen their anger.

"I said, silence!" The guard growled, and slapped Fareed once more.

The wall tore up his skin as thick muscular arm pressed him against the raw plaster, keeping him down as it's owner pounded inside him. And when he finished, there would be another arm, another guard and another to fill him with their seed, huffing their loathing as they claimed his body as theirs to dominate. Fareed didn't listen to the words he understood, and ignored the ones he did.

He did not see the white fabric flow gracefully in the wind as death came to the guards from above. He heard the strangled cries, but when the arm that held him down finally lifted off, he just slid down the wall, staying still, hoping they would let him live if he was silent.

"How do you fare?" A deep, soft voice asked.

Fareed opened his eyes, and to his horror, looked straight into the assassin's beautiful face, the golden eyes looked worried, but the lips smiled. The figure was squatting between trash and crates, offering him a cloth that looked cleaner than a princess' sheets.

"Take it, friend," the assassin said, with a small encouraging nod. "You are bleeding."

Fareed took the cloth from the assassin with a shaking hand. "Th-thank you," he croaked, without ever taking his eyes off the assassin's hand, or rather the four fingered hand. What a terrible sacrifice to make, he mused.

The assassin flexed his fingers when he realised the beggar was studying them. "Can you stand?" he asked.

This seemed to shake Fareed from his dreamlike state, and he nodded slowly, reaching for his pants around his feet, to pull them up. The assassin stood, and extended his hand to him, offering to help. For a moment he thought of not taking the hand, mostly because he felt filthy, contagious. But afraid to offend the assassin, Fareed took the outstretched hand, letting the other man pull him to his feet. The assassin opened his pouch while Fareed fastened his pants again.

"Here," The assassin said, holding out some coins for Fareed to take. "Take them."

Fareed held out his hand, it made him feel terribly humble to receive coins from the man that saved him. "Allah be with you, stranger," he said, not sure if he could ever express his gratitude. The assassin placed the small pile of coins in Fareed's palm, before he swiftly turned around, leaving Fareed standing there with the pile of coins still neatly stacked in his palm. He continued to stare at the back of the other man, until he turned the corner and disappeared out of Fareed's sight. Not until then did he look down at the coins, it was a lot of coins! He was close to calling after the assassin to tell him he must have made a mistake, but he realised that he didn't know the strangers name. Instead he promised to himself he would pay the assassin's kindness back. Someday, somehow, he would find a way.

Two days later Fareed was back at his usual spot overlooking the market place. He had been to a bath house, blissfully ridding himself of dirt, parasites and the guards touch, all seemed to wash off in the warm water. It was not the first time some guards had roughed him up, his trade was a dangerous one, should you be caught. He had bought a new pair of pants, and to Ali the merchant's suspiciousness, went and bought some fruit, smiling widely as he had paid the angry old man with the assassin's coin. If nothing else, he had loved the baffled expression on Ali's face.

Today he had not seen the assassin cross the market place. Maybe he had already left Jerusalem again? Even if it saddened him a little, he looked over at the brothel's columns, promising himself that when the kind assassin returned to Jerusalem, he would have enough coin to pay him back.


	2. Chapter 2

Warning: kissing, vaguely described sex.

Beta: goodbye_sun

Pairring: Altaïr/Male OC

AN: So this is where reasonable canon ends, and the fangirl takes over. Sorry i just feel like saying it, because this is terribly fluffy and silly, and slight ooc Altaïr, but hey, all is fair in slash and war. Also thank y'all so much for the kind comments to the first part, i was really freaked out by posting something with an OC, since i am not really a big fan of that myself.

* * *

Altaïr strolled through the marketplace with his usual self confident strut, his steps carried by determination, even if he was heading no where in particular. He was close enough to the brothel that he could hear the chatter from the girls inside. His lips quirked up in a sly smirk as one of them recognized him. An afternoon with such lovely company, could very well be just the sort of diversion he was looking for. After all, his feet had carried him this way, even if his destination was in the other end of the poor district.

He was all too happy to get out of the scorching sun and slip under the roof of the brothel to be received by smiles, giggles, and welcoming hands that guided him further inside the shadowy depths of the richly decorated house. He let out a small sigh as they rid him of his boots, and the cool breeze massaged his sore feet. He had been travelling for days to get to Jerusalem, he had not even gone by the Buero yet. He knew that as soon as he laid eyes on the Dai, he would be handed a feather and set to work.

Altaïr was a firm believer that a healthy mind and body was important to being a successful assassin. He closed his eyes and sighed as one if the girls set about to wash his feet in cold water. He could hear music and dancing not too far away, it sounded like a wedding. Funny how that left him both cold and warm. He knew that the life of an assassin did not leave space for love, the kind that was everlasting and a bond between souls. He was forever left with this, but he was not one to complain. He opened his eyes a fraction as he heard the Madam. "Master Altaïr, you grace us with your visit," she said respectfully.

He gave her a tired but genuine smile, but his trained eyes, however weary and overworked, suddenly noticed something at the back of the room. It was a young man who sat in the shadows of the house, his gaze ever watchful. Altaïr looked straight up at the Madam, "Who is he?"

The Madam turned around to be sure whom Altaïr spoke of, and then laughed softly, "He is one of us." She gracefully sat down in the pillows next to Altaïr, "Not all men prefer the soft curves of a woman, and his trade is a dangerous one." She paused as she noticed that Altaïr eyed the young man, "I hired him as a personal guard. So should someone ask, he protects my life."

"I see," Altaïr said, resting back in the pillows.

"Has young Fareed caught your eye, master?" the Madam asked coyly.

"Maybe," Altaïr sighed blissfully as the girls ended their foot massage, made away with the water.

"Fareed!" the madam called, which brought the young man from the shadows and to the nest of pillows. "Sit." Fareed sat, his breath caught in his throat. "Master Altaïr, wanted to see you," the madam continued.

Altaïr lazily turned his head in the silk pillows and held out his hand, and Fareed hesitantly placing his smaller one in the assassins. But after only seconds, Altaïr pulled his hand away, leaving Fareed to retract his as well. A frown appeared on the beautiful, scarred face. "He is trembling," Altaïr stated, "I have no use for fear between the sheets."

The madam shot Fareed a pointed look, and Fareed looked away.

To be honest, Altaïr found the birdlike young man most off-putting, he could not imagine how his blood would boil and sing, if the touch was timid and fearful. He wanted someone to take what he had to give, as they gave him what he wanted the most. There was nothing more to it than wanting to abandon himself to his animal instincts. But always so with someone who enjoyed his touch, as he found ecstasy in theirs.

"Forgive me." Fareed finally said, his voice low, but steady. "I do not fear your lust, Master Altaïr," he let the name roll off his tongue as he tasted it, and found it sweet as dates, "You just struck me speechless."

Altaïr rose a eyebrow, not sure if he should trust the boy's words. He stretched like a large cat, and licked his lips. Turning to the Madam, "Ablah, is she?"

"At your disposal, Master Altaïr. I shall send someone to ready her," the Madam said, with a smile, just glad that Fareed the idiot, did not turn one of their better behaved, and paying customers away.

Altaïr's lips twisted into a smirk, "And the boy too."

For a moment the Madam looked at him, it was only schooling that kept her jaw from hitting the ground. She smiled and nodded. "Go prepare yourself Fareed," she stated, watching as the baffled boy stood and almost fled the room.

He had thought the boy to be shy, and had honestly not for a moment believed that he would actually join Ablah and he on the bed. But he was proven wrong. Fareed's hands and lips were both bold and free in their attention. And between the two. Altaïr soon felt like he would burst inside out, like the sun of ecstasy had taken up residence inside him.

He couldn't help but to pull them both close as they all lay spent in the wide bed. He noted the soft feminine form to his right, feeling like a comforting pillow on which he could loose himself for all eternity, and to his left, an angular bony hip. When he ran his hand over Fareed's back, he could feel his spine, yet it made his desire stir anew, it felt like sin, like a delicious secret.

Ablah got off the bed to wash, and soon Fareed stirred as well. Altaïr sighed heavily, he could stay here lodged somewhere between deliriousness and afterglow, his whole body listening to the universe, but he knew he had to move as well. He had gotten what he came for, what he paid for, and now he should return to what his true reasons for riding all the way to Jerusalem. Reasons that made his blood boil equally, just differently.

He walked over to the water bowl assigned to him, watching the city as it slowly closed down as dusk settled in. He could still hear the wedding, and figured it would most likely go on all night. He washed his hands last as it was custom, he would sleep when he reached the Beuro, and take up his assignment in the morning. Perfect.

"Master Altaïr," Fareed suddenly said from behind him.

Altaïr turned towards the boy, still in his naked glory, while Fareed was already fully clothed, having returned from his own room. "Yes?"

Fareed took a deep breath, and stilled his fears. "You showed me great mercy some time ago, and while I do not expect you to recall every nameless, helpless commoner you save, I remember you. The Eagle, death from above."

Altaïr was puzzled, but did not move, he did not even try to cover up. He just stood there, like he owned the room, owned the suns dying rays behind him. Which to Fareed almost made him look un-earthly and god-like.

Fareed cleared his throat, "I promised that I would..." the words eluded him as he stood in the situation he had wondered about so many times. Instead he held out his hand to Altaïr, whom in return held out his hand to receive whatever it was the young man gave him.

Altaïr did not wear the mask of shock often, but as he looked down in his hand to find a pile of coins and a white cloth, he looked from his hand to Fareed.

"Forgive me that I couldn't get all the blood out of the cloth, I will buy you a new one, if you wish it," Fareed said and bowed slightly. "You saved my life back then, I am sure of it. I cannot repay you in other ways, but I can give you back what is yours, and to...to..." Fareed wanted to say 'offer myself to you, for I own nothing but my blood and flesh', but he was sure that the assassin would take it the wrong way, thinking he bedded him for money and pity, which he didn't.

"The boy in the alley?" Altaïr asked with a whisper, his eyes looked yellow and birdlike in the orange light.

Fareed nodded.

Altaïr held out his hand once more, stepping closer to Fareed, "This belongs to you, friend," he said. "I gave it to you, I never expected for you to repay me."

"I worked so hard to repay you, please don't deny me my gift," Fareed said, his voice barely audible in the room, against the muffled sounds of the city going to bed.

Altaïr's fingers closed around the cloth and coins, "Very well," he said softly. "Tell me then, Fareed of Jerusalem, is there anything you wish for that I can give you?" He stepped closer to the young man, lifting Fareed's head with three fingers under the youngsters chin, forcing him to look at Altaïr.

Fareed licked his lips nervously. "There is one thing, I always dreamt of."

"Yes?"

"I want to see the city like the eagles," Fareed said, sporting a slight blush, all too aware that he was asking Altaïr, the master assassin, who was still standing in his glorious nakedness, golden, riddled with whiter scars in all shapes and forms, the muscular, used body of a warrior.

"Your wish is granted, young Fareed," Altaïr said with a toothy genuine grin.

Fareed's steps were lighter than usual as he walked down the street with Altaïr. He couldn't think of anywhere safer than at this man's side. Suddenly, Altaïr stopped and looked up into the skies. He turned to Fareed, "I cannot carry you to the tallest tower, but I can carry you to the eagles none the less." He said softly, turning around and bending his knees, offering his back to Fareed, "Jump on, friend."

Fareed hesitated for a moment, but then climbed unto Altaïr's back.

Altaïr gritted his teeth and started to climb the walls with a determination unlike anything else. He was not about to admit that Fareed was heavy, and inwardly was glad he had not promised to take him to the highest tower, for they would surely have fallen.

Once on the church roof, he bent his knees once more and let Fareed down. "Sit down, so you don't fall," Altaïr said.

Fareed looked out over the dark city, it was every bit as beautiful as he thought it would be, "Breathtaking," he whispered.

Altaïr squatted next to him and chuckled, "You should see it from up there," he said, pointing at a really tall tower, "At dawn." Altaïr let his cowl fall, and ruffled his short hair, "I am not a religious man, but that sight is nearly enough for me to believe."

Where the sudden brashness came from, Fareed didn't know, but he turned his head and looked at Altaïr's profile in the night sky, "You should, I am sure that Allah spared your life more than once." He smiled smugly, "I saw the scars, some of those must have been deadly."

Altaïr nodded, "They are all a reminder of all the times where I was foolish, and too slow." He sighed softly, "I do not take pride in my battle scars like others." He turned his head too and looked directly at Fareed, with a long calloused index finger he pointed to his scar that ran over his lips, "This however is a reminder of why I do, what I do. This is the only scar I wear with honour."

Caught up in the moment, Fareed reached out and ran a testing fingertip over the gnarled scar. Altaïr suddenly grabbed Fareed's neck, pulling him close, so close their lips almost met.

"The brothel policy says..." Fareed started.

"You are not in the brothel now," Altaïr breathed. "This scar was given in love..."

"Now, I know nothing of how assassins mate, but surely you do not wound each other," Fareed said, wide eyed in surprise that he had voiced that thought. "Oh forgive me," he mumbled trying to turn his head from Altaïr.

"We do." Altaïr sighed, "Some deeper than others." His voice was laced with sadness, something Fareed had never heard from him before, and it made him look back towards the man next to him.

A kiss is a token of intimacy, it can be brotherly, romantic, lust filled, or fatherly. This was none of these, this was skittish and inexperienced, Fareed mused that how lonely he must be, to be such an seasoned lover, and yet kiss like a timid adolescent boy. Yet the lips of the master assassin were every bit as soft as he had dreamed they would be.

It was not until Fareed returned home and undressed that he found the little bundle buried in a fold, the cloth neatly wrapped around the coins. He smiled to himself, so that was what that kiss had been about, an opportunity to get close enough to plant this. The assassin had outsmarted the thief.

The End.


End file.
